From Under the Tree

 

Merry Christmas by Giuseppe Palmisano 

She slumped into her favourite arm chair. Christmas had once again overwhelmed and exhausted her.

There was an oppressive scent of pine in the air that seemed to smoother her, as if too much toilet cleaner had been squirted up her nose.

She was weighed down by tinsel and glitter, like grit in her eyes, both blinding and scratchy at the same time but her arms were heavy, unable to sweep the offending sparks away.

Pinned down and hemmed in by tradition desperately trying to create the perfect festivities.

Seventeen vegetables with dinner, home made brandy butter, an array of cheese with crackers and grapes.

Vintage grape scissor sourced from Ebay, that didn’t actually cut. Lingerie from her beloved that was the wrong size – wishful thinking her boobs were that big! Two fondue sets, cheap and tacky, buy one get one free no doubt. Toys that required batteries which they’d overlooked on the shopping list.

It was the usual over the top shambles, nothing like the glamourous family Christmases portrayed in the cheesy movies, but marginally better than the Den and Angie divorce.

Next year, she sighed, it would be different.

And so here we are in 2020 and there’s a good reason to stop the nonsense.

“Let’s do things another way.” She whispers as she crawls out from under conventionality and plans this year's new normal.

Rambling thoughts and small steps

 Strangely for me I am up, dressed, have eaten breakfast and am sitting at my laptop by 9am.

Getting up has been an effort just lately, well I say just lately, I guess it all started with having a university student home with me for so many months, I slipped easily into his patterns and since he has returned to uni I can still see few reasons for getting up at a reasonable hour.

Today I had to take the car for an MOT and was actually so early the garage hadn’t opened when I arrived just after 8.

As I walked back home in the glorious glow of the early morning sun, I pondered my life, as you do when you have the chance to be self-indulgent. I am listening to Sally Field’s memoir on Audible at the moment and so often what I’m reading/listening to influences my mood – currently introspection.

It was “going to school” time and many children passed me along the familiar streets, they were walking to the same school I had attended so many years ago.

I don’t suppose I realised then that I would be here once again at this stage of my life, I’m not really sure what my plans were at that age.

I’m not sure what my plans are NOW. I seem to be drifting in these strange times. The mood of the whole world is squashed by a pandemic and add the layers of grief at losing my dad recently coupled with the general malaise I feel at this time of year as we approach the anniversary of Andrew’s death it’s no wonder I have so many mornings when I struggle to escape the warmth of the winter duvet.

My mum phones me often and I reassure her that it’s alright to not get much done each day, take time to cry and just remember. So why am I so hard on myself?

Mostly I feel very cheated at all that’s been taken away from me over the past ten years, as much as anything I am grieving for the plans that haven’t come to fruition this year. Not that I ever had a clear idea what those plans were but they involved travelling and meeting new people, sparkle and adventure!

Have I written all this before or does it just sound familiar because these thoughts have been reverberating around my head for so long?

I want some structure, purpose and fun in my life, I miss my old life up North where all these elements fitted together in some kind of harmony. Now I am like a Strictly dancer in a fancy ballgown and high heels trying to move to a Latin rhythm where I don’t know the steps. I’m wearing the wrong outfit and I severely wobble in high heels – a legacy of chemotherapy that I know I’ve written about before.

I do have some tentative plans that I’m hesitant to expose on here, although there is much that I will inevitably write down one day.

Ah writing – that solace for my soul – when was the last time I wrote this blog? My words have dried up on paper even if the rambling in my head continues.

And yet each time I feel my fingers clicking out that rhythmic beat on the keyboard I know these are the dance steps I must continually practice, this is the melody running through my life as ideas flow from my brain to my fingers, words that become strangely coherent as I tease them from the depths, well at less I hope so!

So where does that leave me today, just before 10am? There are things I need to do, good deeds to tick off my list. There are always things to sort out and tidy up.

And I’ll breathe and take small steps into an unknown future, in the end that is all any of us can do in a world that has gone mad - for today that will be enough.

Just A Few Words

It doesn’t take many words to convey a huge amount of meaning.

After all, as Polonius wisely says in Hamlet, “Brevity is the soul of wit”, a line vaguely remembered from my A levels too many years ago.

Short sentences stick in your brain.

“Jesus wept.” Is the shortest verse in the Bible, it’s often quoted, although maybe not in the way it was intended, but it distils the essence of grief and humanity, loss, longing and love.

Alliterative words are good at stitching thoughts together into a neat package with no raw edges, they trip off the tongue.

Playing with words and meanings is a joy, from bending them into rhyme when you have the time to making jokes to stop the mopes (assonance – getting the rhyme wrong!)

Several days ago – not quite a 100 – I joined a Facebook group called The Daily Haiku.

There is a daily and weekly theme for inspiration. It is a pleasure to be part of a huge group of creative people. Haiku are fun to write and traditionally only seventeen syllables - requiring lots of counting on fingers, and I know that’s not just me because we discussed it in my writing group zoom chat! Although the purists out there may be horrified by that admission.

For someone who loves instant art in any form it really appeals. Although it can take time to cajole the words into just the right shape, changing and twisting them to communicate the essence of what you truly want to say. I admit I’ve rejected some efforts, when I couldn’t wrestle the gist out of them it made me submit to defeat rather than submit them online.

(ASIDE as my thoughts veer off at a tangent - Words that have more than one meaning – submission - a possible theme for another day, I will add that to the daily vote!)

To celebrate one hundred days of The Daily Haiku some of us recorded ourselves reading our poems. It has been edited together into a fabulous YouTube video – it’s well worth spending 20 minutes of your time watching.

 

A haiku jigsaw

Beautifully put together

Words painting pictures

 

Calming. Surprising!

The lilt of many voices

Warms a weary soul

 

Words can resonate and have the power to heal, often we wonder what to say to people especially when tragedy strikes, in times of grief or when people are struggling.

Lockdown has been a struggle for many of us, it comes and goes but hopefully we are able to find some words of comfort. They don’t have to be wrapped in a haiku but neither do they have to be long winded or clever. They can be borrowed – think of all the memes on social media and how they can be so apt in certain situations.

I’m aware I’ve probably written too many words here – long winded maybe clever maybe not.

I should go back to the quote at the start and put an end to this soliloquy, it’s hardly “to be or not to be…”

But hopefully my words have served some purpose, my last blog had some rave reviews (Hahahaha) – do check out the video if you didn’t stop half way through to escape the monologue.

Perhaps even try to write a haiku just for fun or for a friend, and see where the words take you…

 

A new day dawns

Fresh with possibilities

Which path should I take?

Middle Aged, Middle Class and Mildly Cross!

Well I guess 52 is somewhere in the middle ages of life. I own a house, a car, have a degree level education and actually don’t need to work so I must be middle class.

But am I mildly cross, furious, a bit peeved or just numb? Mildly cross was the best alliteration.

It started when I went shopping, there are more people about these days and some of them don’t appear to know the rules we have been abiding over the past few weeks.

Some people have no idea where to stand when queuing at the market or at the co-op?

“You can just go in now.” Said the woman who came up behind me.

“I just looked a bit too busy.” I replied, waiting for the next person to leave before I entered.

After all there is still a limit on numbers allowed. And a notice saying one in – one out.

I almost regretted going in at all when I counted about six people down the first aisle – none wearing masks or apparently aware of the existence of the 2 metre rule.

“DON’T YOU KNOW THERE’S A PANDEMIC!” I wanted to yell at the top of my lungs but obviously didn’t – how to spread a LOAD of germs in one go, although I was wearing a mask and I have no discernible symptoms.

Am I just a worry wart? Do I just like being cross and grumpy? Or is there more than meets the eye?

There is of course always more that one side to any story.

I tried smiling at those I met even behind my mask.

“You can tell you are smiling by your eyes.” Said the cashier, when I promised that today I wouldn’t make her cry. “You always come in when I’m feeling emotional.”

I really feel for her and anyone put in a position of having to work and deal with the public, the great unwashed as Andrew might have called them or the maskless.

But let’s not debate the pros and cons of wearing PPE in public places, yes, I have strong opinions and I will voice them but I need to calm my frazzled nerves and writing has always been a great way to sift my thoughts and bring about some balance.

So what I am really angry about? Or maybe who am I angry at?

The BIG answer I suppose is GOD.

He always seems to spoil my plans. So much for working with me and promising blessings.

Getting a cancer diagnosis right before moving was quite frankly shitty timing. Now if there had been a silver lining of meeting a gorgeous single consultant on my cancer journey, I might be a bit happier about it.

But treatment ate away at 2019, stole some of my hard-earned self confidence and left me with proper scars and most likely permanent nerve damage.

Thanks God – another lesson I didn’t want to learn, although what lesson was I suppose to be learning? Life is unfair?

I think I learnt that that one several thousand words ago with my first blog.

And now just as things are getting better on a personal scale and I’m reasonable fit and healthy, ready to conquer the world there’s a global pandemic!

And that’s the problem with being angry at God – whatever my grievances are there are millions, billions of people so much worse off than Mrs Middle Aged, Middle Class and Mildly Cross with her first world problems!

Even adding in the fact that my dad is terminally ill with cancer doesn’t tip the scales when compared to a refugee who has lost EVERYTHING.

Not that God particularly wants us to make those kinds of comparisons. They are not really helpful. If God is loving he cares for ALL in ALL situations.

If being angry with God ultimately gets you nowhere (although I realise lots of psalms cover this ground and anger at God is legitimate, he has the broadest of shoulders) how about I focus my disappointment back on me?

I’ve had over three months of major procrastinating, I’ve read a few books, phoned a few people pushed the coffee table out of the way and jumped up and down for a few Zumba classes but is that enough?

I could have written a novel, finally turned my first blog into a memoir, produced something truly AMAZING!

Other people have, but so often other people’s increased activity just makes me act even more sluggish in a weird sort of defiance.

I don’t think I’m actually alone and this blog is a shoutout to all those who are wondering what this time is all about? This is for those who haven’t sewn hospital scrubs out of old duvets, haven’t delivered cream teas to the elderly, haven’t been working relentlessly on the front line, haven’t rearranged their bookshelf to create the most pleasing display as a back drop for their myriad zoom meetings.

We need to remember to be kind and being kind starts with us.

Remember at the beginning the advice was simply “stay at home”, this was how we were going to “do our bit” – so maybe we shouldn’t be so hard on ourselves.

If we are still breathing, if we are still getting up and dressed most mornings maybe for now that is still enough.

In many ways we are experiencing a kind of grief, mourning the loss of life as we knew it.

I tried at the start of all this to at least do one thing productive each day. Not the greatest challenge and looking back through my diary I have had things to write each day, spurts of activity punctuate the malaise.

Thankfully things are forever changing; I have tentative plans just over the horizon and things won’t always be like this even if just now they seem just beyond our reach…

For now at least my initial anger has dissipated, the numbness hasn’t quite worn off but posting this blog is my way of being productive today and maybe my words here

let's hope my anger gives me courage to create something better!

will help someone and this will have been a very good day indeed!

Lockdown Art - Emerging and Blooming

Do you remember having plans for 2020? Those dates on the calendar that seemed set in stone, places to be and people to see.

For me the end of the university year coincided perfectly with a retreat to Lindisfarne. I planned a weekend away enjoying some space before picking youngest son up after his exams on the way home and starting the LONG summer break.

Well the long summer break became extended, starting way before Easter and I suppose at least the weather played along.

However my weekend retreat at the end of May was, like so many things this year - a casualty of Covid.

Whereas many events have “zoomed” ahead in the virtual world, it was felt that this would have excluded some participants, so instead we were all sent a “Ladies Retreat to Lindisfarne staying at home” pack.

Included was information, prayers, colouring in sheets but most exciting to me a “slow stitching pack”. Scraps of fabric, thread, yarn and buttons. A cornucopia of tactile goodies yearning to be played with, stitched together and overlaid creating shifting patterns, emerging and evolving into ART.

Now for only having 3 letters ART is a pretty big word and I would struggle to call myself an ARTIST, in much the same way as I struggle with the concept of being a Writer with a capital W. But I sometimes write so therefore sometimes I am!

Unfortunately most of us set ourselves such lofty ideas of what these terms actually mean and yet we ALL have the ability to be creative in our own ways.

I knew of a man who painted the most exquisite watercolour pictures but because he couldn’t expressive himself in BOLDER acrylics, he didn’t think much of his obvious talent that everyone else could clearly see.

We always set the bar high and often judge our own efforts much harsher than we would our contemporaries.

It sadly can take years to recognise our own talents, they need gentle nurturing to make them flourish.

I was fortunate to have been part of a church for many years which encouraged art in ALL its forms, and that is the church which had organised this retreat, following in the footsteps of many other artistic endeavours and exhibitions in the past.

So I was in no way daunted by the pack of fabric and buttons – mostly in my favourite colours of pink and green.

I threw open the patio doors, sat cross legged in the sunshine and tipped everything our at my feet to play and see what I could make.

It seemed obvious that the goose had to be a focal point – although I confess I originally thought of the story of the ugly duckling and how he emerges as a swan – but whatever kind of bird it is in reality I wanted it to peep out.

I pulled threads tight and frayed edges; it was emerging boldly from a tangled mess into something new. The felt fabric provided neater boundaries, some enclosed by tidy blanket stitch.

The lily is a representation of the first lily that opened this year on Easter Sunday. New potential, new beginnings – blooming in a world that’s been turned upside down and irretrievably changed.

The sequins are the little pieces of joy that sparkle often catching us unawares. And buttons are a symbol of what holds us altogether. I often use buttons and other found items in what I create, It's repurposing for the next chapter.

I’ve written before about this lockdown being a time of mending and I’m sure there is still much to do, overall what emerges and blooms when this is over is up to us. These are the themes that keep reverberating around my head. Although the continued head spinning often leaves me so dizzy my focus blurs – perhaps that’s a topic I should explore another day?

For many the new ways of doing things will continue to be embraced. The frayed areas will add character making us resilient – Is it any wonder that I called my very first blog unravelling edges about mending my life after my husband died. Some edges will always be raw.

My words, my sewing, my garden and everything I create is a tapestry of my ever-changing life. Some bits may be messy but hopefully there is also much to delight in. And once joined with everyone else’s efforts we can make something really beautiful!

Whether that beauty is displayed in an artspace at the back of a church or in our High Street windows, or the virtual world we also inhabit – let’s resolve to make the world a brighter place as we emerge blinking into something new.

Other Lockdown art - photos from my garden and other creations...

A time to write and a time to mend

This time last week I relocated into my seldom used dining room for a change of scene and an excellent online Zoom writing workshop led by Natalie Scott - you can find out more from her website Pen Power.

I was definitely in need of a change of pace, a change to the monotony of this lock down life, it's getting dull staring at the same walls all the time. This workshop gave me permission to both write and reflect. In many ways it was also a spiritual experience, as I spent time reassessing and getting my thoughts in order.

To be honest I didn't get a great deal of writing done, for most of the afternoon I read over my old story about the girl in the yellow dress - maybe someday soon I will continue the story, I feel we all need a bit of escapism,

The highlight of the day was connecting with new people and listening to the work they had produced, some about the wildlife spotted in this season and a charming piece about falling in love with a Swiss cheese plant and watching it's new leaf unfurl.

Right at the start we were set 3 short free writing exercises, basically you take the prompt and just keep scribbling away whether your words make sense or not for a set time, we did 3 minutes on each.

The three prompts were

• For me today is...
• I notice...
• So I will...

As I read back over my thoughts I took the ideas and wrote this poem.

Today is…

Mine – all mine!

Time to indulge my passions.

Remember;

plans on hold

will one day

become plans released -

set free!

Scribbling relentlessly,

I notice…

I am reaching,

stretching

for a colourful future,

sunflower bright and golden.

So I will… sew!

Stitch by stitch,

a jigsaw, mosaic, collage of scraps

and lost words emerges.

It’s all about mending!

These are unprecedented times, as the news keeps reminding us, and we are beginning to imagine what the world could look like when we have recovered.

The thought the occupies me the most is that there will be a lot of brokenness, lives shattered that need piecing back together and I hope that is reflected in my writing.

After all I know what it is to be broken, being widowed at 42 and then having bowel cancer at 50 has not only left me with inevitable scars both visible and unseen, but hopefully a resilience that maybe I can use to help people mend when this is over.

It's a tall order and an immense task to heal the world, but as ever we start with the smaller pieces. Some have found comfort during the lockdown by doing jigsaws, many people sew, knit or bake - it's all creative, making something new for something smaller.

Let's all make something beautiful in words, music, wool or flour (if you can get hold of any!)

Stitch by stitch we will recover...

A joint effort - my mum knitted the squares, I arranged them and sewed them together!

WORDS when I was BORN – A prophesy?

It's been a while since I wrote anything, especially for my blog.

But I've been challenged this afternoon by a writing friend who shared a website showing which words first made it into print in the year you were born.

Click the link below to find words from your own birth year. There will be some surprises!

Merriam Webster - Time Traveller

I've taken as many words as took my fancy and woven them into the poem below.

Curiously CORONAVIRUS was on my list!

All words or phrases from the website have been typed in CAPITALS - with the exception of the title words, where CAPS are used for effect.

WORDS when I was BORN – A prophesy?

I was born in the year of BUTT-NAKED, BED-SHARING.

When DATA-MINING a DEEP SKY

                began to produce the FALSE COLOUR

                                of LIGHT POLLUTION.

It could have been the start of a PEACE DIVIDEND,

But UNAPPRECIATED, BACK-OF-THE-ENVELOPE calculations

                worked instead on SELF-DESTRUCT formulations.

It is CLUNKY to SPEAK OUT

UNTRENDY even –

                but when did I follow the curve?

CELLULITE, MORNING BREATH, CORONAVIRUS

each one MEGA deadly in their own way,

                all born in my birth year!

We’ve gone too far astray.

We need TOUGH LOVE.

Hand me the CORRECTION FLUID.

Pass me a BAND-AID.

Press the ALT KEY.

Let’s reset.

Let the EARTHRISE,

                a SQUEAKY CLEAN,

                                BABY BOOMLET,

                                                PEACE SIGN,

Of the NONCONFRONTATIONAL,

                INDUSTRIAL STRENGTH,

                                GREEN REVOLUTION!

               

Bathtime thoughts – a Eureka moment!

Fizzy baths used to come in cubes

With scents like - lily of the valley.

The kind of gift you picked up,
Perfect for your granny.

Now there are bombs and cupcake shapes,
Peach Bellini, sugar frosted

Cosmopolitan and glittery

You’d open these quite happily

Delighted at such

a thoughtful gift…

But really what’s the difference?

They crumble just the same

As the cubes of yesteryear.

The ones you’d hide in the back of the wardrobe.

No one liked to be presented, 
with "old lady" gifts like these!

But now they're reinvented

For the modern world,

Pop one in the bath

And let the cocktail swirl!

Thinking the Worst

I’ve always considered myself to be an optimist but after this incident that happened over Christmas, I’m not so sure…

The boys and I been out for the day visiting family and now we were heading home, driving on the windy dark country roads.

(Co-incidentally the same roads as I drove on when Following Fog Lights, several blogs ago!)

All of a sudden, I hit something and braked sharply because whatever it was sounded like it had caused some major damage to the undercarriage and quite probably a flat tyre.

We all got out of the car to look.

Every tyre was intact and we were very puzzled. We’d all heard the noise and there was nothing on the road left behind us.

On closer inspection under the car I could see what I thought looked the size and shape of a concrete breeze block – I had to describe what one was to the boys because neither had heard the term before. It was wedged in tight and impossible to move.

After calling the breakdown service lots of thoughts bombarded my brain simultaneously,

1.     Why didn’t I see the offending object, after all it was big enough? On reflection I did spot it, too late. The problem with driving on dark roads is that you get dazzled by oncoming traffic so by the time I had registered its existence I was over the top of it! Phew - I’m not really a bad driver.

2.     How did a breeze block get in the middle of a road, should I call the police, was it a matter for them or should I wait until the breakdown truck had arrived? Fortunately, I waited but in my crazy train of thought I had already thought all of this through to the illogical conclusion of standing giving evidence at the trial of some rogue gang depositing concrete blocks on minor roads. My imagination knows no bounds – no wonder my dreams are so vivid.

3.     Who lived in the house we were parked outside of, had they spotted us, why didn’t they invite us in for a cup of tea? Or just check we were OK?

“Have we got anything to eat in the car?” Oldest son broke into my thoughts.

There was an emergency packet of mini cheddars in the glove box which he didn’t want. And chocolate he’s just got as a Christmas present which he also didn’t want – we certainly wouldn’t starve on this cold and wintery night.

Anyway, our rescuer wasn’t far away, about a 40 minute wait, so we’d been told.

I got back to thinking about what I would wear in court and my mind wandered to the interview on the radio talking about our traumatic ordeal!

The dashboard flashed up that the battery was low, we turned everything off except the hazard lights to conserve power – it really was like a disaster movie now. Cars whizzing past from both directions.

Except we refused to get out of the car for safety as my friends suggested when I texted them – “too cold!” was my excuse.

Besides not many parked cars get hit on country roads with their lights off and we were flashing away – on, off, on, off – and I reasoned we were on a straight bit of road quite visible to all who passed. But still ignored by the people in the house – perhaps they were away, or stuck on another road somewhere also a victim of the concrete block gang.

I didn’t worry about being hit but feared the worst about the state of my poor car. Of course, it would be a right off, and we’d end up arriving home on a flashing tow truck – on, off, on, off!

Then I’d have to go through the process of sorting out an insurance claim and getting a new car.

But I’d have my day in court and those rascals who had caused so much inconvenience would get their come-uppance!

The AA man arrived and a very nice man he was too, just like the old adverts used to suggest.

He took a look round and we showed him the offending article, I think I might have suggested calling the police but perhaps he didn’t hear.

He advised me to drive the car up a small ramp so he could take a better look and remove the foreign object.

Good luck with that I thought – Its concrete – I was convinced.

Until he removed a huge square of wood!

Now that wasn’t in the script.

“Fell off the back of a lorry,” he shrugged. An every day occurrence?  Certainly, something that was far more believable than a gang of breeze block thugs.

Was the car OK? He couldn’t see any serious damage.

He suggested I drive it to the next village while he followed in case there was a problem. We could stop there and complete the paperwork (a misnomer these days when it’s all done electronically on a tablet with an illegible finger squiggle signature).

To cut a long story short, everything was fine and we got home safe and sound.

My disastrous fantasies disappeared into the ether. No day in court, no drama, no new car, no ride in a tow truck.

Was I disappointed? I guess not really as everything slipped back into place and life carried on. Just a minor bump in the road of life.

But when did I get to be such a pessimist, thinking up the worst scenario?

I suppose after all I’ve been through very little surprises me these days, so much of my life has spiralled out of control, taking unexpected twists and turns. The word “straightforward” has not been in my vocabulary for many years.

I remember Andrew saying being a pessimist was best because there was something to celebrate when everything turned out ok.

I admit the optimist in me was always down hearted when my plans didn’t work out.

Ultimately it’s better to be pragmatic, somewhere in the middle, my internal train of thought running at a hundred miles an hour, thinking the incredible worst because it might make a good story, while externally exuding confidence that life has thrown a whole lot my way, I’m still standing and whenever the next “real” crisis hits – hopefully - I’ll be ready!

The Missing Piece

I didn’t have the best night’s sleep last night. I was awake between 4 and 5 ish listening to a book on audible (This is Going to Hurt by Adam Kay – very funny but a little bit rude, so not for the faint hearted. My old bookclub read it last year and a friend recommended the audible version read by the author.  He has a pleasant voice but I was giggling too much for it to be of any soporific value).

When I did sleep, I had the most peculiar and vivid dreams.

In the first one I somehow acquired a cat, unimaginatively, for me, I named it Cat-ling. (My brother has a cat called Catia and I used to have a penpal with a rabbit called Rabbit – not very strange and sadly all true!)

I think I might have rescued the cat, and on a whim, brought it home, I was certainly ill prepared for owning one. I had no food for it and no where for it to do its business. When I dragged myself out of bed the next morning, in my dream, I discovered it had pooped on the doormat by the back door.

I added litter tray and “new” doormat to my shopping list.

My sister-in-law and nephews were also in my house but I never did establish why.

The second dream took place in our first marital home and somehow Andrew was back from the dead. I definitely hadn’t gone back in time.

I discovered him preparing walls in the bedroom for re-decorating.

“What colour are you painting it?” I enquired. After all colour is my forte.

“Blue.” A bit avant guard for the man who painted the whole house Magnolia!

“But I can choose the shade of blue?” This was of course acceptable, I was thinking a muted blue grey colour, “I could even move back in with you if you like?” I dropped casually into the conversation.

Well he has been dead over nine years, I’m not sure if it would be more of a shock for me or him to be sharing a bed together after all this time.

I acknowledged I’d got rid of the wardrobes since he’d died and we’d moved, “but that will give us more space in here and we can get some new wardrobes and put them down stairs for our clothes.” (We had an upside down split level house, that really isn’t as weird as it sounds.)

I was obviously also acknowledging that the boys had moved on and we had space to play with.

It must have been about this point I woke up; it was almost 9am!

Pondering my night-time adventures, I wrote them down on Facebook – well why not get the opinions of my 200 or so friends. Or just 6 or 7 who wanted to join in the fun!

“What’s missing in my life?”

The responses were, I should get a cat – no chance – too much responsibility and looking around the kitchen I have no where for a litter tray!

Someone else suggested I’d been eating too much cheese, but casting my mind over what I ate yesterday I had NONE – unusual for me, does the lack of dairy in your diet also stimulate your sleeping brain?

No one so far has suggested I need a new man in my life – hahaha – good job I’ve given up with that fantasy then. Not quite sure where I’d fit him in – although I’ve not really utilised the loft space since moving in – something else to ponder when I can’t sleep!

So in conclusion - it will be just me, without a cat from now on. As if there was any doubt…

But I do need a new doormat by the back door, and a bit of paint on the walls might be nice – maybe in the end that’s ALL I’m really missing!

Winter Snowdrop

I seem to be writing mostly poems at the moment and today is no exception as I've been inspired by an old blog post about spying my first snowdrop.

I miss the snowdrops from the old garden, there are some bulbs planted here but as I put them in quite late in the year I'm still waiting and hoping they will appear at just the right time when I'm feeling low and in need of some cheer.

This time of year is bittersweet, in many ways winter is only just beginning, January and February can be so cold and relentless. However we've also just turned over a calendar for a new year, full of fresh possibilities.

Happy New Chapter...


Winter                 Snowdrop

Winter waits

icy tentacles

unbidden chill

freezing hearts     Timid snowdrop

                             fresh shoot

                             welcome arrival

                             pleasing hearts

Winter sunshine

fool’s gold

dazzling low

no thaw imparts    Defiant snowdrop

                             hidden jewel

                             earth awakens

                             new hope sparks